Music and Identity
by Maddeline Kirkland-Bonnefoy
Summary: They were all known differently to their family, their friends, the world that knew them by name, and the world that simply knew of them. And yet, as different as they were, even from each other, the Vargas Siblings had always had one thing in common: their love of music, and the fact that they would never be ashamed to simply be themselves. - Warnings inside; rated for swearing.


**First in what will (hopefully) shape up to be a series of one-shots; as they will be connected (albeit loosely) I'll be posting each one-shot as a new chapter rather than a separate story. Background information... well, that's pretty much summed up in the warnings. Speaking of which...**

**WARNING(S): Implied (but never even actually mentioned, 'cause I'm a dork like that) pairings - Itacest, Germancest, and past/one-night-stand PruAus; past mpreg; and extremely confusing family trees. Oh, and if it wasn't already clear, this will focus on OCs.**

**Disclaimer: _Hetalia_ isn't mine, Meredith Brooks' song _(I'm a) Bitch_ isn't mine, and the music player known as the Zune isn't mine, either, though I did own one at some point a few years back. I do, however, own Rome, aka Ariana Vargas, aka the oldest of the Itacest Children.  
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In all truth, I have never much cared for American music – but, then again, I've also been known to lie about things, too. So, really, I only selectively like American music, and say I don't if someone asks. But, then again, that isn't the point of this. Normally, I like rock bands, and it's not my fault that Alfred Fucking Jones has the best of those, but… there was one song that caught my interest, from the very first moment that I had heard it on the radio as I was flipping through channels. No, it wasn't a radio in the car; I was scrolling through the available radio channels on this hand-held music player that I had borrowed from a friend. (The thing was called a Zune, if I remember correctly; it's sort of like an MP3 Player and an iPod at the same time, yet also not, but I digress…) All that said, I came across a song that I couldn't help but like, even from the first few bars of music. Normally, I can't stand country for the fucking _life_ of me, but this song… It seemed like the artist – Meredith Brooks, I learned later, from the same friend who had loaned me the music player – had written it with me in mind.

Honestly, I didn't want to admit how much it sounded like me at first, but by the time it hit the chorus for the first time… By the time that happened, I knew that I could never listen to another song that I had ever thought sounded like me the same way ever again. Not after this. Because, all lies aside, even if the first verse – _I hate the world today_, and _Yesterday I cried… you must've been relieved to see the softer side_, etc – got me more than even some of my favorite rock songs… When it hit the chorus, my world changed. I am a bitch; I swear as much as my Father when I feel like it, if not more, and have not a single fucking ounce of remorse about it. I am a lover; I can be as affectionate and caring as my Mother when I want to be. I am a child; compared to others like me, I'm fairly young, and innocently naïve at times as well. I am a mother; even if not in the physical sense, there have been times when I have played a very large role in raising my younger siblings. I am a sinner; I'll fuck ever willing woman from Berlin to Tokyo to New York to London and back again without a single thought. I am a saint; I go to church every day, I never take off my cross that my parents gave me when I was a baby, and I'm sometimes mistaken for a nun because I like to wear black so much. I'm not ashamed of myself, my parents, or my siblings in the least. I've been known as a bitch from Hell, and a dream from Heaven at alternate times in my life, but I know for a fact that my family and those that love me would never want me to change.

So, basically, in a nutshell, I'm just… me. Though in the words of Meredith Brooks, I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint… I do not feel ashamed. I never have, and I never will. To my family – that isto say, my parents and siblings – and at times to my friends, I'm known simply as Ari. To the rest of my friends, well, they all have different versions of my name, so that doesn't matter. Some I like, some I don't, and some I hate so fucking much that you'll wish you'd never been born if I get my hands on you. (Some people say I inherited my Father's anger management issues. They don't live long enough to make that assessment twice, but they do live long enough to regret it. Dearly. But I'm digressing again, aren't I?) To my grandparents, my two aunts, and my two great-uncles, I'm known as their "kleine Liebe," their "little love;" I'm pretty sure this is because I was the first baby they got to have a direct hand – rather, a hand at all – in raising. Jeez, again with the digressing… more fucking like Mother as the days go by, I swear… All that said, though, most of the world, well, the ones that know me by name, anyways, know me as Arianna Vargas. And, finally, to the world at large, I'm known simply by one name. Rome.

To myself? Well, that's the simplest one to answer, now isn't it? I could spend another hour and few more hundred words telling you more in depth what others know me as and why, but… In all honesty, there is only one that really matters, and that, in the end, is how I know myself. So yes, I've been called all of the above and more, during my 71 years, 7 months, 2 days, 5 hours, 21 minutes (I've inherited my Grandfather and Great Uncle's OCD and perfectionism, and I'm writing this at 5:20AM on Wednesday November 14th, 2012. _Please_ don't ask.) of my life – imagine my Mother's surprise, when he fucking went into labor _in the middle of the fighting _during the Italian invasion of Yugoslavia_ during the fucking Second World War_ – but, in all honesty, that doesn't really matter so much. Of course, unlike when my Mother rambles (_never_ get Mother drunk; he's dark and cynical and starts talking about WWII) I actually have a point to all this crap I've been spewing into the void. As to what my point _is_, well…

To myself, I'm only just that – me. And really, that's the only thing that should ever matter to anyone; who they are to themselves.


End file.
